Slither (4 page)

Dirty Harry in green, Nora thought.

Ahead she noted a long wall of sunlight beyond
more trees. It seemed uncharacteristic until they broke
through. "Wow," someone said. Now Nora saw what
had been done: A clearing the size of a football field
had been cut into the woods and in it had been erected
Trent's drab cinder block "head shacks." They didn't
look like shacks at all, more like blockhouses. Fifteen
such structures in even rows, forty feet long, twenty
high, and twenty wide. Gray-painted metal roofs sat
atop each.

"Those are about the ugliest things I've ever seen on
an island," Loren remarked.

"In the army," Trent said, "the ugliest is the most efficient. It doesn't matter what it is. A truck, a garbage
can, a tie, or a head shack-the army will go out of its
way to make it as ugly as possible. Even the Nike missiles themselves were ugly."

"But you said there's no missiles here now?"
Annabelle asked.

"Not a one. Like I told you earlier, they were dismantled at the end of Reagan's second term and I think
we gave them to Israel."

"Lucky them," Nora said.

Keys jangled. "Say hello to your new field lab," and
then Trent opened a black-and very ugly-metal door.
Hinges grated. He stepped in and felt around the wall.
"At least we should have electricity."

"Should?" Nora asked.

"A maintenance crew was supposed to come out
here yesterday to fuel the generator and purifiers. The
generator runs on diesel fuel."

Suddenly light bloomed, and then everybody
jumped an inch off the ground at a series of loud
twangy pops!

"What was that!" Annabelle exclaimed.

They all moved inside, Trent looking up. "Not as bad
as I thought. We only blew about a third of the bulbs."

Nora saw rows of large hooded lightbulbs mounted
along the structure's metal roof. "It's good enough,"
she said. And she didn't see any spiderwebs or wasp
nests. "A little moldy but it'll do."

Annabelle gazed down the length of the building. "So,
twenty years ago there was a missile in this building?"

"Yep," Trent said. "And if the crew had ever had to
fire one, a motor would crank the roof open, the missile rail would rise, then off it goes."

"They'd fire it from in here?" Nora questioned.
"Wouldn't there be back-blast, exhaust gases?"

"The crew would actually launch from the missile
station, not from any of these head shacks."

"Where's the station?"

"On the other side of the island. I can show it to you
if you want, but ..."

.Who needs to see another ugly army building?"
Loren supposed.

"Exactly."

Nora set down her field case and looked around, trying to come to grips with the environment. This is going to be a pain in the ass, but I'll at least try to have a
decent time. "Well, everything appears to be in order,
Lieutenant. I guess we might as well get started setting
up our gear."

"I hate to leave my cameras and dive gear in here,"
Annabelle fretted.

"I can guarantee that your valuables and important
equipment will be perfectly safe," Trent said. "It'd be
really tough for thieves to get on the island."

Nora wasn't sure but she thought she heard
Annabelle whisper to Trent something like, I trust you and Loren but ... She glanced briefly at Nora,
frowned, and turned away.

You DICK! Nora thought.

"Before you get the rest of your gear come along
with me to the other clearing," Trent suggested, marching them forward. "It's a perfect campsite."

Nora groaned and left the bulky field cases. The
team filed down another trail, through more woods.
Nora frowned at Annabelle's bouncy steps as more
jealousy percolated. All women are NOT created equal,
she cursed the Fates. She followed last in line, forced
to face Annabelle's hourglass physique anytime she
looked up: the tight rump churning in the skimpy
bikini bottoms, athletic legs flexing. I hope she breaks
all her nails ...

Down the trail a ways, Annabelle pointed, enthused.
"Look how yellow they are!"

A dozen large, bright yellow butterflies clung to the
brambles, their brilliant wings barely moving.

"A southern dogface butterfly," Loren said. "Colias
cesonia, at least I think it is."

"But I'm sure Professor Craig knows for sure."
Annabelle glanced over her shoulder to Nora. "She is
the professor, right?"

Nora ground her teeth at the blonde. "It looks like,
well, let me see, like a fucking yellow butterfly, Annabelle. And beyond that I wouldn't know because I'm a
specialist in segmented marine worms, not fucking
butterflies."

Annabelle grinned at her jab, then complimented
Loren, "You're really a smart guy, Loren."

I do not believe this bitch, Nora thought.

"Well, I could be wrong," Loren deflected. "There
are thousands of different species of butterflies from
six different families."

"How many different kinds of worms are there?"

"Oh, tens of thousands-"

"And fifty-four hundred Polychaetes alone," Nora
struggled to contribute, "but it's estimated that there
may still be hundreds more that haven't been discovered yet."

Annabelle wasn't listening anymore, lapsing instead
into less specific chatter with Loren.

"I did my OCS bivouac training out here," Trent
commented. "Had to live on this island for two weeks.
Here's where we camped." He'd taken them to another
clearing that caught a welcome breeze. "There's plenty
of room in the center if we feel like having a campfire."

"Sounds like fun," Annabelle said. "I should've
brought marshmallows."

Nora groaned.

Trent pointed up to a tree. "And there's something
else we can roast, for any of you who feel adventurous."

Annabelle squealed and began snapping pictures.
Lounging on a branch was a long, scaly iguana.

"That's pretty much all I lived on during my survival
training."

"Tastes like chicken?" Loren asked.

"Nope. Tastes like ... crap."

Loren stepped closer to the trees. "Well now, what
have we here?" A tall spiky plant was growing out of a
patch of sawgrass. "A nettle plant from the Canna-
baceae order, more specifically Cannabis sativa, I do
believe."

"What?" Nora said.

Annabelle squinted. "You mean-"

"A great big pot plant," Loren said of the blooming,
six-foot-tall specimen.

"What's a great big pot plant doing on a tropical island?" Nora asked.

Trent walked up to it. If that's not the damnedest
thing ..."

"I don't know much about marijuana," Nora offered, "but I'm pretty sure it's not indigenous to tropical environments."

"It's not," Loren said. He looked to Trent. "But,
Lieutenant, didn't you tell us earlier that kids sneak out
to the island a lot to party?"

"Not a lot. More like once in a blue moon, when
they're lucky enough to have the tides just right. But,
yeah, they do get out here every so often."

"Mystery solved. Some kid was rolling a doobie and
a seed fell out. By the looks of this plant, it's been
growing for some time." Loren grinned, eyeing the others. "Hey, I won't tell if you all won't."

"Sorry, Easy Rider, but no one's touching the plant,"
Trent said. "I'll have to report this. Christ, that would
look great in the papers, wouldn't it? Marijuana farm
on army property. The damn air force would have a
field day."

"Shucks," Loren laughed.

"I've never smoked pot in my life," Annabelle said.
She giggled. "I'm too afraid of the munchies. That
would ruin my body."

Nora wanted to gag.

Trent shook his head at the tall plant. "Well, it'll give
me something to do while you guys are worm-hunting.
I'll have to look around to see if any more of these
things are growing here."

They headed back. What's wrong with me? Nora
wondered. She knew she was letting herself become
aggravated by Annabelle; she also knew it was a juvenile and unsophisticated emotion. Then I guess I'm juvenile and unsophisticated! she finally unloaded on
herself, still forced to walk behind the photographer
and be reminded that she was purely and simply more
attractive than Nora.

Floozy. Thinks she's hot shit with her big boobs and designer bikini. The more Nora tried to let it go, the
more she realized she couldn't. Back at the landing
pad, the crew had off-loaded all the supplies. The
peninsular-jawed warrant officer announced to Trent,
"I guess we're done, Luey. Just give my top a call on the
radio when you want us to pick you back up."

You got it. Thanks for the lift. I guess we'll be here
a week," Trent figured. He looked to Nora. "How long
will it take you to find this worm for Annabelle to
photograph?"

Nora sat down exhausted on another field case. "It'll
take as long as it takes. The scarlata lives at depths of
up to sixty feet but prefers clear, shallow intertidal
zones. If we're lucky we'll be able to make do with just
snorkeling. Loren and I are experienced divers."

"Oh, don't worry, Professor," Annabelle bulled in.
"You won't have to show me the ropes. I'm certified to
three hundred feet and even have an instructor's license." She flipped her hair in the sun. "Do you have
an instructor's license, Professor?"

Nora sighed and looked up at her. "No, Annabelle, I
don't, but-"

The blonde grinned at Loren and Trent. "So who
knows? Maybe I'll be the one showing you where the
worms are."

And maybe when you do, Nora thought, too tired
now to even be mad, I'll be the one to shove the worms
up your ass.

"The worms are all yours," Trent said. "I'm not going
in the water, and I'm not looking for worms. Not in my
job description. I'm just here to show you all around."

"It's gonna be fun," Loren promised. "An adventure!"

"Whatever," Nora said.

Loren grabbed armfuls of rolled tents. "I'll take
these to the campground. Then we can start setting up
our lab."

"Okay by me." Nora looked around, depressed at the
remainder of their gear: diving equipment and several
more field cases, weighty stuff for a 110-pound
woman. I can't carry all this junk. She looked to the
warrant officer and the two pilots. Maybe if I ask
nice...

Annabelle rushed ahead, her body blaring in the
string bikini. "Oh, sir? Do you think you and your men
could help me carry my dive gear and equipment?" She
stood erect, hands on hips, giving the helicopter crew
an eyeful. "I'd really appreciate it."

"Aw, sure," the warrant officer said. "Come on, boys.
Let's give the lady a hand."

A minute later, Annabelle was leading a caravan
back toward the head shack.

Nora sat alone now on the shore, mortified. "Well,
fuck you all very much!" she said. Eventually, she
grabbed a pair of cases and began to drag them toward
the access trail.

"Zero-one, this is zero-zero. Repeat."

"Zero-zero, I repeat. Four more have entered the
perimeter. Two male, two female.'

A calculative pause came over the transmission. "A
third party?"

.Affirmative, zero-zero."

"So that's a total of eight on the island now still alive?"

"Correct, zero-zero. Eight that we've observed. The
first party-three weeks ago I'm pretty-sure are all dead."

"These latest four-they're all civilian sector?"

"Negative, zero-zero. One of the males is military."

Another, longer, pause. "Other observations?"

"I've found one of the dead females from three
weeks ago. There appears to be positive stage two gravidity. Transfection success appears to be positive."

"Roger, zero-one." The major sounded pleased now. "Terminate all transmissions and return to base. Bring
one sample."

"Roger, zero-zero. Out."

Radio silence now. This should be interesting, the
sergeant thought. At least until they found out about
this new military presence on the island ...

Shards of sunlight stabbed down through the overbrush. The sergeant looked down.

The woman's nipples seemed to float atop the bags
of liquefied rot that were now her breasts. Of course,
the sergeant thought. In this environment? It would be
considered tropical. It made dead things rot faster.

The sergeant was not repulsed. He'd seen many,
many dead things during his duties. He was fascinated
by them.

Ah, heat, he thought to himself. He much preferred
the warmer monitoring posts. His last assignment had
been the equivalent of ten below at the hottest marks.
That mission seemed to last forever, he remembered,
but at least the project had proved a success. The heat
here-the blazing heat day after day-made him feel
alive even in the protective mask.

His eyes flicked back down to the corpse.

The kids sure liked to party here. Three boatloads so
far. They came to the island in spite of the warning signs
and the rock-strewn beachless shore, to imbibe in every
chemical and carnal indulgence. This one had been the
prettiest of the first bunch, until the things had gotten her.

A few vestiges of her sexuality remained printed on
the gray, putrefactive skin. The brown circles of nipples
on once-sumptuous breasts, the groove of her sex, even
the ghosts of tan lines. She was a skeleton dressed in
flesh-tone rags that were falling off the bones.

Yet even looking at it this close left the sergeant unfazed.

It's just my job, he realized.

The island habitat shivered around him. Parrots
cackled, lizards scampered up the trunks of palm trees.
It's all so beautiful, he thought, and then he looked
back down at the corpse and smiled.

There would be more corpses very soon.

"I've never done it in the woods before," Leona informed him.

Bullshit, Alan thought. You've done it everywhere,
with damn near everybody, and I couldn't care less. He
supposed he loved her, though, almost as much as he
loved her body and the things she did with it. "It's not
really the woods. It's a tropical terrain ..."